PMD: Explorers of Identity (old version)
by Shamekeeper12
Summary: A shadowy mission has gone horribly wrong. Now, a buizel wakes. She has no memory about herself, but to her left, there is someone who does. Life is a question in Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Explorers of Identity!
1. Chapter 1 - Better Words

**_~Chapter 1~_****  
><strong>_**Better Words  
><strong>_

_"True bonds are hard to form, and yet, they are eternal."  
><em>_—Hanayama_

_ I toppled one stick, and my life fell down. I said one line, and it was the last he ever heard. I told him, Another time. Another time._

_Another time has come, and I am still on the other side. I find myself thinking of another side, from some other time. Thinking of that hero, that legend. It was he who did so much, and left behind his dearest friend, telling him, No other time. No other time. But another time came, and he came back. If he can keep what he has not promised, why can't I keep what I have? It is because I lied. I knew I did._

_I showed him a gray cloud, promising rain. But gray clouds do not bring rain. They bring the hope of rain. There was something mother told me about false hope. Worst kind._

_I must go back. I must vindicate myself._

_Yissu. I will go to Yissu._

* * *

><p>The shadow of the earth has fled, and the land now sees the sun.<p>

And as the sun rises, so do the eyelids of certain character, flickering open. Her chest heaved gasping, and she hacked up water as though revived from drowning. With a surge, she sat up, and was instantly rammed with a ripping headache. Grabbing her head as if to contain an explosion, she felt a large bump on the back of her head which stung when touched. She realized that she had badly hit her head.

She slowly became aware of other things as well as her tired eyes slowly adjusted to the foggy image that was her surroundings. If it weren't for the ocean scent carried by a cool morning breeze, the sand scratching at the skin beneath her fur, the playful waves nipping at her feet, and the faint sense of something beyond the beach, she'd have thought to be somewhere in the desert. Wet, and cold, her orange fur stuck together in matts and knots, and she was weighed down by an object she found to be a messenger bag of sorts—like the ones explorers used to wear. She forced herself into a kneel, and her aching arms craned for reach, and she slipped the bag off with some great effort. It landed with a softened thud on the sand, as of a single tap on a large drum. She then fell backwards in exhaustion, making a similar thud, felt horribly by her skull. Woozy and disoriented, she stared at the sky then promptly squeezed her eyes shut, burning under the sensitivity of light. Her comfort defeated in every way, she found refuge in a moment of lucidity. _Where am I? Why am I here?_

"Why… here…?" she muttered unintelligibly. She couldn't manage above a whisper.

Then someone answered. A soft groan sounded to her distant right, and she lazily pried open an eye to chance a glance.

She saw something, but didn't know exactly what. She strained her eye, but it begged to differ, remaining out of focus just enough to prevent her from identifying the figure. With a pained huff, she rolled over and pushed herself up to a kneeling position, then to a wobbly standing position. All while cursing her bad eyesight, headache, and vertigo. With the grace of a drunk spinda, she hobbled closer, trying to make out the shape of a figure she thought to be a few meters away.

Her knees gave out from under here, and she grunted as a new surge of pain ripped through her skull. She felt for sure she'd have a stroke if she kept walking. Rubbing her head tenderly, she resorted to calling out in a hoarse voice.

"Who's there?"

A different voice answered, clear, dignified, and menacing. "Lovely day out, isn't it?"

Out in another corner of her eye, three blurry figures emerged from the woods further inland from the beach. The centermost was green with a pale underside, whilst the other two were dark in color. She could almost smell the trouble they brought with them.

She cringed at the onset of another head-throb as the servine spoke again. "Yes, I couldn't agree more," he said despite no answer given. "Tell me…"

She jumped in surprise when she felt a vine wrap around her neck, turning her head harshly to view the trio fully, causing another ripple of dull pain.

"… what brings you here to this ungodly place at such an ungodly hour?"

One of his accomplices spoke, now distant, investigating what appeared to be debris. "Seems she's a wash-up from a shipwreck"—he gestured to the other figure, apart from the three—"the other one too. That one looks like he's just about to wake up… I think they tried to escape by boat!"

"Ah-I see!" the servine said in mock understanding. "That is… unfortunate."

She panicked as the vine lifted her up off the ground by the neck, writhing painfully as the grass-type tightened his grip.

"You see…" he said, putting on a mockingly doleful expression, "the commissioner would bring you two to a local clinic. But I…" he further tightened his grip, and she found herself gasping for breath, "I am not Commissioner Herdier. I—we, don't like witnesses."

"Witnesses—" she gasped, "to what—?!"

The servine scoffed, "Playing dumb won't save you. Bisharp! Use Guillotine as I hold her down! The quilly's next!"

The situation having been quickly escalated, she wrought her throbbing, oxygen-deprived brain for nothing but a way out. A way to survive. The servine's vine thrust her hard down into the sand, expelling what little air she had left out her lungs, another tidal wave of pain washed over her skull. But like a snake, she struck back.

Instinctively, her double-tipped tail glowed, and she lashed it like a whip. What followed was a loud crack as of a gunshot, and she heard the servine yelp as the vine went limp, split in two by the Sonic Boom. She tore it off her neck, and despite the pain, threw her head around, searching for the other two. Her blurry vision spotted them running after her, and she jumped up, shooting off another Sonic Boom at the sand at an angle, kicking up the dust in their face. Momentarily stunned, she drew back a few meters until she felt her feet wade in the ocean water, the enemy between her and the other. She tried her best to orient herself, rubbing away the sand from her eyes, but little time passed before she saw the blurry servine curse an angry order.

"Angriefen!"

Active like a switch, both bisharp charged forward, closing distance at speed. Forcing vertigo into the back of her mind, she dove for the sand, and burrowed in. The two attackers stop at the hole, and glance back to the servine unsurely.

"What are you waiting for?!" he shouted incredulously. "AFTER HER! No one escapes Yissu!"

The two hesitated. Neither wanted to venture into the Dig hole for fear of the unknown. Finally, one finds the courage to jump in, but they were too late. She bursts out of the ground from another place, clipping one in the chin, launching him off his feet. Sonic Boom seems to be her favorite, swiftly spinning mid-air, she hurls the blade of air with a skill to befit a sniper, landing a direct hit on the second's helmet.

The bisharp staggered backwards, and she fell to the ground sloppily. She struggled to right herself in preparation of her assailant's second charge. But just as she sat up, she noticed sand being kicked up from the corner of her eye, and heard a multitude of impacts, as of hail from a winter storm…

_Leaf Storm!_

She forced her head back against the sand, sending a shockwave of pain through her head as the Leaf Storm drew upon her. She cringed as the vortex enveloped her, hoping to at least keep alive as leaf after sharpened leaf cut across the ground and her limbs. From out the swirl she heard muffled voices, and saw the servine's frantic gestures.

_"I've got her pinned! Finish her off, Bisharp!"_

In horror, she watched as the bisharp gave a brief nod, and charged forward with a glowing forearm. _Oh please help me,_ she murmured to no one in particular. A second later, and she braced for impact, knowing the effects of Guillotine. But a something sounded louder than the green vortex about her, like a gust of wind from an angry earth, and a streak of fiery red and orange crashed into his side, exploding on impact. The bisharp bounced to the side unconscious.

She was struck by a moment of shock. _What the hell was that?!_ Moments later, and there was another puff of wind, and another streaking ball of fire entered the Leaf Storm. Knowing what would happen next, she risked exposure to the Storm and made a leap to the outside as the Fire Blast exploded above and behind, dissipating the Storm.

She sat up, and glanced about to see a figure cloaked in a coat of fire rushing forth, much to the fright of the servine who set off another vortex of foliage in defense, only to have it become dust against the front of fire. He yelped as the Flame Charge made contact directly, throwing him back the full nine yards. The servine did not stand.

The unknown attacker, carried by momentum, skipped across the sand like a pebble on water as the fire fizzled out. Some small columns of smoke rose from the motionless mass as she shakily stood, and hobbled over in an attempt to investigate. Three steps in, however, she felt a trickle down her leg. Looking down, some leaves were stuck in all along her side and leg, and suddenly, she was aware of the pain. Clenching the sorest one gingerly, she soldiered on. Her head was slightly clearer now, much to her appreciation, and basic thoughts were now possible—also much to her appreciation.

She came within a few feet of the pitiful lump of flesh, and for a moment, she thought her savior to be dead, but the shallow and occasional rise in the chest proved otherwise. With an uneasy breath, she stepped forward, and knelt down beside the quilava, unsure of exactly what to do. _Wake him up, maybe?_

"Hey…" she said softly, lightly shaking his shoulder, "are you okay?"

No reply came. Yes, he was thoroughly unconscious. A weak and disgusting snore attested to that fact.

* * *

><p>Warmth. Keep warm. Must keep warm… Fire… Light… Survive the night…<p>

_ Heh, that rhymes_, mused the edgy buizel amidst the frigid air of a serene autumn night. She was lost. She woke up not five hours ago, with nothing more than her thoughts. She thought questions. Many. None had answers, save for one, what to do with the quilava that saved her from certain death. He was a stranger to her, like everything else. Even her name. That, too, was strange. It was frustration she used to crash the two stones against each other, succeeding only in breaking a third set of possible flintstones. _Dammit!_

Their attackers had fled first chance they had, and she had spent the last hours venturing into the forest beyond the sandy beach, in search of shelter and excape. She had found a small clearing, no bigger than a room, and it was there she fashioned a makeshift bed on which to place the stranger. A night of the full moon enveloped the land, and the beach, the sand, and the forest was plunged into a silent darkness. Not even crickets, only the wind.

She was startled out of her stretched wits when he spoke.

"Need help?"

She could only hear his voice in the dark of the night. The moon was full and bright, but she had propped him under a tree, and the shade concealed his face. He spoke hoarsely. What little voice he had was punctuated with a distinct tongue.

A nightly breeze rustled the leaves in the trees above. There was no other sound until he spoke again. "W-with the, uh, the fire, see."

Before she could reply, the mysterious pokemon acted on his own accord. Limping to the pile of kindling, he seemed to hack up an ember. The laughable excuse for a fire pit slowly began to smolder, and she saw his face. He was tired, and he was weak. Nothing else seemed off about him. He was a normal quilava, one who had saved her from three would-be murderers. _Who is he? Can he be trusted? Is he… _

Her tongue spoke a better word, "… okay? Are you okay?"

He coughed… or was it a chuckle? He rested on his belly, wincing silently as he did so. His tired eyes were glued to the now dancing flames. "I'm fine, Sonia. Just casually dying over here…"—he laughed—"No, really. I'll live, see—we both will, I'm sure."

He sighed, closing his eyes as if to sleep, "We made it… we made it here… now we do the rest in the morning."

"Um, Sonia?" she asked. _Is that me?_

A red eye flickered open with a frown of sorts. "Yeah," he said. "Like, your name, see."

"Oh…"

His face shifted to worry. Now with both eyes open, he questioned further. "… Are you okay? Sonia? You do remember your name."

With a feeling of being under scrutiny, she replied softly, "No… No, I don't..."

"No game?"

"No game."

"No trick?"

"No trick."

"No mistake?"

"No mistake."

"How much for the item again?"

…

"Sorry, that was uncalled for… So, you really don't remember? You don't even remember me?"

She hung her head, "I'm sorry. I… I must've hit my head. It hurts when I move..."

He huffed a sigh, almost sullenly, "I see…"

"Who are you?" she asked, and with it, the heavens opened and the questions came raining down. "Why are we here? Who—who were those 'mon that attacked us? Do I know you? Who… what…?"

"Calm—calm down, Sonia!" he said. "Peace. Let's take it from the top—orderly like.

He huffed, "Lessee… I'm Kuwait, the upstart guy with the New Leaf accent. You're Sonia, the dissenting voice in the background—no accent. Nice to meet you! Again… We knew each other, see. We work for the same boss. Oh, did I mention…? Actually, never… never mind…"

Kuwait seemed to be nodding off, but the buizel would have none of it. "… and?"

"And that's all I have the energy for," he finished.

"What?!" she exclaimed, somewhat angered at how his wit worked well even when he was about to sleep. "I—"

"Peace, Sonia. Calm. In the morning. Don't waste your energy being so… so worried… Damn, you're still like your old self…"

It was then he nodded off for good. A weak and disgusting snore attested to that fact.

Are you goin' to Delibird Square?  
><em>Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme...<br>__Remember me to one who lives there.  
><em>_She was once a master of mine._

**Pokemon Mystery Dungeon  
>EXPLORERS OF IDENTITY<strong>

* * *

><p>AN: Lately, I've decided to re-write this work. This is the first chapter of said rewrite.<p>

But before you grab pitchforks and torches, just ask, and I shall make the original version available to you.

Happy reading! ( ^ ^)


	2. Chapter 2 - A Few Long Moments

_**~Chapter 2~  
><strong>__**A Few Long Moments**_

Sonia woke with head and leg bandaged, wondering how they got there. The air was humid. Kuwait sat beside the smoldering remains of the campfire; his back was to her. She noticed his own bandages as he wordlessly sifted through the contents of a bag. She recognized it as hers through blurry eyes, the one she found herself wearing in the first place. She wondered how she felt about it before.

She welcomed such an ability to focus, but while her head no longer throbbed (as much), everything else did. The quilava's ears perked when she grunted at sitting up.

"I love the sunrise," he mused tonelessly, looking off towards the beach, into the distant rising sun. "I found our bag. I took the liberty of patching us up, see."

"Uh, thanks," she replied, slightly offset by the serious, nearly sullen demeanor displayed before. This wasn't what she remembered of the person. Today, he seemed particularly cynical, like a rock with a frown.

In his paws was a small sack, and he dipped it into his palm, a blue orb tumbled out. It was cracked. He huffed, returning the orb to the sack, and setting it on the sand.

"Something strange happened to me this morning, Sonia," he said. "It all just set in, see. You've actually—you've lost it all, haven't you?"

She looked on as the stressed pokemon sheepishly scratched his neck. "I… I don't know what to do."

"Answers are a good place to start," she replied automatically. "Who are you? Where are we?"

She looked on as he sat there, for some long while, almost motionless. There she waited, a few long minutes, as a thirst scratched at her throat, and a hunger churned in her belly. The hunger and dryness was near unbearable. It was then she became aware of a gut-wrenching feeling. How could she have missed it before? She was lost. Utterly lost. Forgotten.

Finally, the quilava seemed to nod to himself, and Kuwait reached for the bag, and pulled a waterlogged scroll. He stood and half-limped, half-walked over, unrolling it before her eyes to reveal a map, labeled and marked.

"I'm a—friend of yours," he said, then pointing to a spot on the map. "And this is Yissu, a province of Sapphiria, see."

"We're there?"

"Only as visitors," he replied, rolling it up. She wondered why he would show it to her if there was only a glance. "From what I understand of yesterday…" he continued, "it would be unwise to stay here. That servine dastard will be along with more. We have to get to Kenji's house before he comes back."

A moments pause passed over before the quilava realized his own words. He started packing things back into the bag, secretly hoping the holes wouldn't widen.

"Why do we need so many things? Who was that servine? Who is Kenji?" the questions kept rolling like film reels. An anxious Kuwait help up his paws in stop to reply.

"Peace, Sonia!" he said. "Calm. I'll tell you on the way there. Now, I wouldn't mind a little help with the things, see."

The response was immediately familiar, and she didn't feel so forgotten.

* * *

><p>He was hungry, tired and thirsty; his fur was matted, and his legs were numb. He was pursued. But despite these things, the leafeon was in his element. This stage of slaughter, the forest of the now-conquered Lazuli clan, offered a better chance than anywhere else. This was woodland. This was home.<p>

Lieutenant Meade never pardoned his bid to leave the hell of subjugated Crionac, and presently, she and underlings pursue not a minute behind. Things have been that way for five miles. But there is no rest. There will never be rest for Faizel Taylor. Yissu calls. Whatever his direction, it must be east. Whenever he stops, it must not be now. Every tooth of the Golden Fang is nipping at his heels, but he cannot fail now, not when he is so close to the border.

But from out that border, the clumsy dash of another was heard, and two figures appeared over the hill. Different in height. In his astonishment, he forgot his pursuers, watching from afar as they passed, swiftly apace, disappearing into the woods beyond.

Fearing for the unnamed, bewildered as to what their cause, he uttered what his father once had. "Come back! Come back before you die!"

But out of the bushes, two pawniard emerged as the wind from that selfsame hill. That other was hunted too. He felt the weight of fabric about his neck, reminding him of his duty. He knew exactly what to do.

Leaping forth from his hind legs, he charges forward out of his sideline concealment, feet light on the ground. In the moment, he was a rowdy guild apprentice again, rampaging through the dungeons of Verus in the name of rescue. Aura fills him, bladed leaves coalesce, haloed in violet. He strikes.

His targets, too preoccupied in their pursuit are aware of him too late, Magical Leaf sweeps them off their feet. Their fugitives glance back, utterly surprised. It is here Faizel recognizes a mienfoo and azurill. They disappear into the brush.

Their quarry escaped, their pride insulted, the two Golden Fang pose aggression. A silence prevails as Faizel comes to a stop in front. They watch one another intently. A few long moments.

"Hunting children?" the leafeon speaks, noting their prey. "Doesn't that leave a bad taste when spoken?"

One pawniard eyes his scarf, "Wearing symbols?" he shoots back. "Have you loved the old king so dearly? He who drove us all to madness and war?"

"More than yours," the apprentice replied.

The battle resumes, Faizel ducks into the brush, not intending to square off with a type disadvantage. The two give chase. Unable to stay their momentum, the leafeon finds himself running from them too. Distracted, he fails to eye his paws. An exposed root catches one. His speed works against him, and he's is brought face-first into the damp leaf-laden earth. He knew he was doomed. But he desperately staggers upright, his paw painfully complains.

The pawniard catch up, and Metal Claw deals a deep gash in a hind leg. Low Sweep clears him of his two good feet. They chuckle to themselves. What a pointless folly, to meddle with the Kaiser's elite.

But another battle cry sounds in the Lazuli Woodlands. A soaring figure emerges from behind, and one pawniard's helmet is thrust forward as a High Jump Kick lands square. The pawniard tumbles over him, landing hard on the ground, not to rise again that day. The mienfoo makes itself known. Perhaps Faizel's efforts were not so pointless after all. The other poses to strike, but Faizel is quick to act, and his stride forward is denied by a Grass Knot. Short work was made after that.

Silence falls again in the woods, and the shade seemed to darken under the canopy. But something was off… In the distance perhaps? The others, he thought, where are the others?

And after a few long moments, she replied. "You forget the forest is my home also, Faizel." His heart plummeted.

"Hande hoch!" barked the bisharp, her posse close behind. "Surrender!"

* * *

><p>Kuwait's laid-back demeanor returned somewhat on the hike to this unknown place of "Kenji's". After much a one-sided conversation on his part, he finally answered one of her questions.<p>

"Have you heard of thieves before?" he asked, quite uselessly a question.

Sonia, already irritated by the previous hour's ramble, simply scowled at him.

He laughed, "Just checking. Well the locals here are quite keen to pin a group of them in particular, see. They're lead by that servine, Eric Peiper. They are the far-reaching garrison of the Golden Fang in Yissu. They're very skilled!"

Kuwait had explained to her the dealings of the Golden Fang in earlier ramblings, and she became quite interested in this concept, that of their attacker and his place in this strange new world.

The quilava chuckled suddenly, "You know, back home, they catch a thief. They put up a trial, they lock him up. Here it's much simpler, see," he leaned down to pick up a stick. He held it between them, waving it like a baton. "The Yissui catch a thief, then they tie him to a tree and charge two crowns to poke him with a stick!"

"Where is home?" she asked inquisitively.

Kuwait dropped the playful tone and sighed. "See, uh, I don't think 'home' for me would be home for you…" he said.

The winding forest path gave way to a small clearing, and with it, a small establishment of burrows and houses. The village was silent, though not eerily so. A breeze floated quietly. An inhabitant fetched water. A gold ribbon, tied to a post beside one of the houses waved slightly by the wind.

The quilava pointed with his arm. "There," he said. "Only Kenji is stupid enough to hang precious cloth like that out in the open," —he turned to her— "Leave the talking to me, alright? Pretend you've known him half your life—which you have, see."

A coded knock, and an ampharos with a small pair of glasses answered the door, eyes squinted and baggy with age. He welcomed them with a heavy accent. "Kuwait! Sonia! … What happened to you?"

"Our boat crashed," a breath, "and we ran into Peiper and his lieutenants."

Kenji appeared shocked, "H-How did you escape?"

"We beat him up and ran," he replied candidly. "We're lucky to 'ave made it here before he came back. Don't worry, I don't think he'll pop up here anytime soon."

The ampharos nodded. "Well… please come inside. You must be very-very tired! How are my favorite gaijin?"

Before she knew it, Sonia had replied. "Very, very tired," she parroted.

Kenji laughed, leading them to sit on some mats in one of the only rooms in the small establishment. She cast an uneasy glance at Kuwait as they settled, who only smiled and waved, as if she was greeting him.

"Please wait while I prepare breakfast," Kenji said with a slight nod.

"You've gotten better," Kuwait commented suddenly. He gave another hearty laugh.

"Yes! As you can see, I can now have full conversation in your language! All that's left is for you to learn Yissui, hmm? Why not learn what the stuff on your flag says?"

She stared as he left. It was then that she noticed Kuwait shift nervously on the pad. "Erm… wiat here—please," he said, equally sudden. "I'll be back soon."

Sonia nodded, slightly confused, as the quilava stood and exited as Kenji had. At that moment, she was left alone, and thoughts paid her company.

* * *

><p>"What is it?" Kenji asked, sensing Kuwait's presence behind him. He was picking out a mix of berries from a cupboard. A pot of water sat atop a small fire to the side.<p>

"Kenji, there is a big problem," Kuwait said urgently. He only chuckled.

"You're alive, yes? Did you not say we're safe from Peiper?"

"Kenji, you don't understand. Something. Horrible. Has happened. See. It's Sonia."

Kenji lent but one interested eye.

"She hit her head or something and—and her memories. Gone—everything!"

"…Is that so?"

"I don't know what to do!" he quietly exclaimed, being careful to mind her presence in the next room. "I don't know, everything—everything is gone!

Kenji rubbed his chin in thought, clearing the quilava's continued ramblings from his head. "Friends come and go, Kuwait," the ampharos said, "but their memories—memories of them—remain nonetheless."

"Wha—?" his emotions got the better of him. "What kind of answer is that?!"

The ampharos shrugged. "What can I do? I am old farmer—not doctor! So I say what father says. 'Friend come and go, but their memories remain eternal'. I'm sorry, Kuwait. Nothing I can do."

"But… but what if you don't want them to go…?" the quilava asked, trailing off, trying to level off his outburst.

"Well…" he turned to the gold ribbon waving outside for inspiration. "Don't dwell on what was lost," he said. "Dwell on what is left. I'm sure things will get back to her slowly."

In disbelief, he shook his head. What was left between them? Everything they had built simply vanished. Simply gone. How could so much be ended so quickly? What could possibly be left?

He was startled by the slap of paws on his shoulders. "Kuwait, get ahold of yourself!" Kenji said, nearly shouting. "You know that despite this… your mission must continue!"

Slowly, Kuwait came to his senses, and slowly, he nodded.

"Tomorrow," Kenji asserted, "you go to Delibird Square."

_Tell her to weave me a ribbon of gold._

_Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme._

_Without an ounce nor spool of thread stole._

_Then she'll be a master of mine._


	3. Chapter 3 - Out of Straws

**Chapter 3**

**Out of Straws**

The talkative squeaks of a wagon wheel provide substance to a nonexistent conversation. On the low afternoon sun, their captors became as shadows upon the canvas of the wagon, like nameless spirits floating about. Faizel's wrists were rubbed raw fidgeting with his burlap bindings. Occasionally, a bump in the road would drive a splinter into his leg, belly—or face if he was about to doze off. The cut on his leg festered as though salt were strewn upon the floor. The ankle he sprained tripping over a root ceaselessly complains. Two others endured the same—the mienfoo and azurill.

"Why are we headed east?" a pawniard asks, and Faizel suddenly became aware of the fact. They were not headed west. "Our homeland is to the south—and Crionac is in the opposite direction!"

"Why, if so many are fleeing Yissu lately, Eric must be getting lonely," the bisharp, Lieutenant Mead, replied underhandedly. The comment was followed shortly by a bark at the zebstrika to tow the wagon faster. Faizel's attention returns to a mix of misery and dread. Why, he wondered, had he and the others been taken alive? There is a riot somewhere, they'll hang us for example, he reckoned.

It was as if the little azurill heard his thoughts. He whimpered pushing closer to the mienfoo, who put her arm around the child pulling him close. Faizel had to wonder what drove her to save him when she had so much to protect._ I may as well find out…_

"Miss…" he begins politely, "what's your name?"

He receives only a nervously blank stare. Clearing his throat, he tries again. "Ona'mae wa?"

To this the mienfoo gave a startled blink and a shaky response in Yissui, "Ai… Aina. My name is Aina."

"Aina… I see." He asked further, gesturing to the little azurill curled up into a ball, "What's his name?"

"I…" she looked down to the child, look of question, "don't know. I found him on the way."

A moment passes. "What's your name?" she asks in kind.

"Call me Faizel."

She bows, low as she could from the way she sat. "Faizel, thank you for saving us."

He scoffs. "Neither of us are saved." The zebstrika chortles.

She looked down knowingly, adding softly, "You speak Yissui very well."

_So did Mother…_ He swallows. "Thanks."

Caught up in the tense formality, they run out of things to say. With dusk upon the hour, and with no use being awake and waiting to die, they sleep. Aina was the last to drift, reassured by the steady heave of the azurill's breathing.

* * *

><p>Night falls. The stars return for their chance to greet the moon in person. The moon itself, ever bright, is hardly humbled by their presence. They fade as she passes by. No clouds were seen that night. Eyes abound were drawn upward at the iridescent spectacle.<p>

The table was set below a window, and the angle was such that moonlight filtered through the leaves of nearby trees. On the table, the light danced before them, meandering outside the amber hues of a flickering candle. They provided a soothing duet of color for Sonia's tired eyes. Kenji had long since gone to bed, and it was here that Tom and Sonia sat across from one another, finishing supper. Thoughts ran adrift between spoons of porridge.

Tom himself had been stargazing, she noticed. And, like some recurring nightmare, the questions came again. _Who is he? A friend, but from where…? Where am I from? What…_

She was half-startled when the quilava addressed her. "What?" he laughed, "You're looking at me funny."

Quickly, she turned away, slightly embarrassed. Nervousness came, and she needed an excuse to answer. "I… I was—" she was about to say, but something else spoke for her. "…You stare at the sky a lot."

She cringed inwardly. She watched as he glanced up once more through the window, then again to her. A moment's pause.

"…Yeah," he said with a short, small laugh. "I guess I do. They"—eyes turn away, realizing that maybe, he was speaking too much, "they, ah… remind me of someone, see."

She hummed in acknowledgement. "Who?"

He bursts out in a nervous chuckle. Indeed, he had said too much. He seemed to hide his face as he kneaded his paws together—as if they were cold. "That's the—the thing, Sonia. It's a—a secret! A secret, see."

"Ooh~ A secret," she played a mocking interest. "I see."

He squints accusingly, "Hey, now I see you staring at that table a lot! What's the meaning of that, huh?"

The tables turn once more, and Sonia finds herself at a disadvantage. "…I like the color of the lights," she answered, finding the truth to be of good use.

"Why?"

Silence hangs in the air as she stares at the shimmerings before her once more. They confused her, how the moonlight would fade in, and blink out—exist, and cease to be. They were forever, they were fleeting. Whole of parts, infinity occurred in an instant. She did not know what it was thinking, what it meant to tell by performing this strange dance. Perhaps, if she asked it a question, some profound thought would spring forth, and the troubles of the world would melt away as the wax of the candle on that selfsame table.

There would never be such an answer.

Sonia gave no reply, and one more moment of silence drifts past them—one breath long.

With a huff of sorts, Tom stood suddenly, having finished his meal. "Good night, Sonia. I'll be leaving tomorrow morning…. You should stay here."

"Where to?" she asked as the quilava turned to leave. _Why?_

"… Don't worry," he says, "Kenji should take good care of you."

* * *

><p>The same night falls. The stars return. The moon itself emerges—absent clouds were its fanfare. They've come to watch. They flock and gather, as a crowd to watch the hanging, to watch the guillotine fall.<p>

The gates are startled awake. They scream open at the push of a guard. A Golden Fang greeting transcends the distance between freedom and oblivion.

"Ms. Mead! How come the hour?" At the gate, a herdier stands firm against the light of the harvest moon. A stoic glare and the distance between them mask both pride and shame.

The bisharp answers. "I've caught more of Peiper's strays. I trust you still have room in some cell, Commissioner?"

"Funny thing, he was attacked not too long ago…" The herdier trailed off as he glances over her shoulder. He could not see through the canopy, but Lieutenant Mead provided the number—three. "I'll find a place," he said.

The wagon lurches forward, the dirt of the road gave way to gravel and stone, causing the wagon to rock and rattle. Herdier the Warden's gates shut with a shriek of despair. In a perfect world, they would never cross again. None is perfect that needs a warden.

The azurill whimpers as two pawniard fling open the wagon covers. Faizel was the first to be dragged out. "Aussteigen!" barks the soldier. "Get out!"

On landing, he grunts, collapsing on his leg. He had forgotten his sprain. Suspicious, two other pawniard join the one in making him stand. The remaining pawniard converses with the zebstrika as he offs the harness.

Lieutenant Mead and the herdier look on as they struggle. "How come the hour, Commissioner?" she parrots.

"There is no hour. There is only a necessity."

"But are they not your countrymen?"

By then, they had succeeded in bringing Faizel to stand, having threatened him with impalement. He, Aina, and the azurill are escorted from the courtyard into the building itself. The entire place was surrounded by stalks of wheat and straw which bowed gracefully in the wind, lit by the moonlight. "There is no country," he replies a while after. "Just people."

She hummed in acknowledgement, and a moment passes.

"So, you said poor old Eric was attacked recently?"

"Why are you here?" she asked.

The floor, stone, was course and cold. It had kept them awake since their arrival. Aina, Faizel, and the azurill were three among a dozen in the cell—a modified bed chamber. It was a pungent smell. Dripping was heard from the corner. Most were sleeping, a few absent-mindedly watched the moonlight track across the floor. A meowth seemed to converse, hushed and fervently, with another—a quilava. Both seemed distinctly foreign. One compulsively scratched at the wall, it was her rapping that was the rustle of leaves in this forest of stone. It was a harsh noise, but no one seemed to care. Aina had asked the question that they might not hear it.

But it was this very question "Why are you here?" that broke Faizel, and he cursed as a tear escaped. The azurill looked on quietly. Aina, unsure of what to feel, set a paw on his shoulder apprehensively.

"…I'm looking for my brother," he said quickly. "I'd—I'd rather not talk."

She nodded.

He composed himself and asked in kind, "Why are you here?"

She sighed, chuckling a little. "It's a long story… I guess neither of us are willing to open up yet."

They exchanged glances and a momentary smile. "Tomorrow, maybe," the mienfoo said.

* * *

><p>The morning brought with it a rolling breeze over the trees. Tom left first thing and their ampharos host bid him farewell. The door shut, and the house emptied of noise.<p>

Sonia was about to drift off into a tangent of thought when the silence was broken by Kenji's sudden speech.

"Tom told me about you," he said unsurely. "… I'm sorry."

"My memory?" she clarified, to which he nodded. She looked down sheepishly, saying "He told me to pretend I've known you half my life."

He scoffed. "Then you must be six months old!" A rather large laugh filled the room. Sonia couldn't help but grin, if only a little bit. _How old am I anyways?_

"I must show you something!" he said. "Please, one moment."

Kenji seemed fond of rounding corners, as apparent by his swift exit to another part of the small mud-wall house. She waited intently, hearing footsteps, mutterings, and rustlings of paper. A moment passes, and she looked down to inspect the smarting wound on her leg. The soiled bandage had since been replaced, courtesy of her host… Favoring a tangent apart from pain, she turned her eyes to the table at which she sat.

It was simply set up, neat and clean like the rest of the house. A small dish and other ornaments lay in center. One in particular caught her eye—a small smeargle painting of a happy couple. An ampharos—Kenji, she assumed—stood behind a dignified, almost uptight mienshao. They seemed to hold hands quite comfortably.

Finally, Kenji himself appeared once more, a crumpled piece of parchment set between his paws, and a nostalgic glint about his eye.

"These were our letters!" he said excitedly, beaming through his specs. "You know, this is our first time speaking in person. You must get tired of Tom's accent." He smiled cheekily.

She giggled. Kenji chuckled himself as he handed her the old thing. "You wrote this," he said.

Her interest sparked. Immediately, she became filled with intrigue. This was her slant, the words of her former self. What, of everything lost, could be held within?

Disappointment. The ink was smudged, and the paper was only half-there. The ampharos, ever perceptive, sighed as she realized this, taking on a more fierce tone. "This is the only letter I have left from you and Tom. The others were burned… I'm sorry."

She stared blankly, longingly, at the aged paper. On this paper was her, close and far at once. How could all her memories be smudged? Here was everything she want ed, and it was gone.

"Why…?" she said.

Kenji stared at her for a while, as if she were to say something more. There wasn't. He gave a breath and a sigh. "I'm sorry."

Tom didn't return that day. Sonia went to bed, not confused, but lost. She couldn't sleep. She stared up, the thatched roof made dark, sharp shapes in the room, and she began to wander once again.

Out of ceiling straws, she made shapes. Out of shapes, she made stories, stories about herself, and she'd wonder who she was. She was the kind of person, maybe, who was a normal child. Typical of normalcy, born in some place not Yissu. The kind who would love to adventure in the fields, and by the river, and even in the house. Carefree. Her parents would scold her for playing too close to the well and she would confuse them with another game of Hide-and-Seek. As she grew up, she would sit in her father's lap, and hear the stories of mystery dungeons, and would think her dad a hero to be an explorer. She would dream to be like him.

She was the kind who loved the river, who would wade in the rush of the creek water outside the house. Boundaries. She was told: do not cross the creek, stay away from strangers, do not play by the well. In class, maybe, she would never be in front and not quite in the back, just there, a happy face, where all troubles far and nigh were always far. Habits. She would always watch, and would always learn, and would always ask questions—even if they had been answered before—even if they never had an answer to start. Laughter. She would say something stupid, and all would laugh. She would say something smart, and the teacher would smile. The students would still laugh. All troubles, far and nigh, were far to her, and she would remember her father's stories, and she would wish them near, and would wish to save the world from them.

When she was grown, maybe, she would tend the local park, and would make friends, and would trade stories. She would tell one where her mother gave money to buy, and would later ask for the change. Sonia would say there was none, but mother would ask and she'd see the change, and would say, "Seems your integrity is worth 10 cents," and would let her keep it.

Out of straws, she made stories. Sonia saw straws, but maybe she didn't see anything else. Who was she to see what was never seen—to make what was never made. Maybe that is nature, to make things, because all things have befores, even the dime her mother never gave her, even the dad who never joined a guild, the memories she never remembered. Here in bed, one moment among many, her voice would break without a word, and she would realize... This is the meaning of Sonia: there is none. This is the meaning of stories: to give meaning.

Out of straws, she made stories.  
>Her name was Sonia,<br>and she whispered, how one day, this place and its troubles drew nigh for her.

She wished them far.

_Tell her to wash it from yonder well.  
><em>_Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.  
><em>_Where never my tears nor rain ever fell.  
><em>_Then she'll be a master of mine._

* * *

><p>AN<p>

In my revisions, I changed Kuwait's name to Tom. To be honest, I was tired of the original name.  
>You can check out my journal on dA for more information. Thanks for bearing with me. ^ ^<p> 


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